


Imagine Me and You

by thesaddestboner



Series: Author's Favorites [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Denial, Detroit Red Wings, F/M, Implied Relationships, M/M, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Unreliable Narrator, mention of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-22
Updated: 2009-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He might have a tiny crush on Chris Osgood.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Me and You

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be crackier than what I ended up with, oh well. Thanks to [**annapeace**](http://annapeace.livejournal.com/) for looking this over, catching all the typos, and offering her suggestions.
> 
> Title from "Happy Together," by the Turtles. 
> 
> Minor edits made about two years after initial LJ posting because I suck.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Being with Detroit makes Pittsburgh seem light years in the past, but in truth, it hasn't even been a full year since the last time he pulled on a black-and-yellow jersey.

Hasn't even been a full year since he was in this building last, wanting more than anything to make Chris Osgood cry.

Now, they're teammates. Osgood looks on him like a buddy, somebody to shoot the shit with and have a couple beers with. Nobody's done any crying yet, and thank God for that, because that really would be quite awkward. And Ty doesn't do awkward.

He also doesn't do guys. Or, at least that's what he'd like to believe. Which isn't going well, so far.

He might have a tiny crush on Chris Osgood.

Ty knows if Osgood found out he'd never live it down. Osgood didn't get that reputation as team jokester for no reason. It'd probably be plastered all over the lockerroom walls, and Ty would rather eat broken glass laced with Drano than deal with that, in such a public arena. So to speak.

And Ty _doesn't do crushes_. He's married, has _kids_ for Christ's sake. He loves his wife, and, sure, he might sleep around like everybody else in the league, but only one woman has his heart. That's why he doesn't really get why he wants to spend every waking moment of every day with Chris Osgood.

"Pass me the tape."

Ty looks up. Osgood has a hand outstretched, fingers wriggling. "What? Sorry, I wasn't listening," Ty says. He tightens his hands around his skate laces to keep them from doing something that could get him in a world of trouble.

"You and everybody else in the world," Draper chirps over Osgood's shoulder. He ducks when Osgood turns to jab an elbow into his chest.

"Asshole. People enjoy listening to me talk. They enjoy my company," Osgood says.

Ty reaches into his locker and pulls out his roll of stick tape, flipping it into Osgood's chest. "There ya go."

Osgood bends down to pick it up. He stands up, tape in hand, with a sharp exhale. "Dick."

"You all right?" Ty asks, perfectly innocent.

Osgood narrows his eyes. " 'course I'm all right." He hobbles back to his locker, favoring his groin, footsteps light and ginger.

Once Osgood is gone, Ty lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. That was close. His fingers twitch, still itching to touch the stubble on Osgood's cheek - God, that sounds queer. He finishes lacing up his skates and stands, turning to pull his jersey off its metal hook.

He makes a mental note to call the team's sports shrink after today's practice.

-

Ty sits in the shrink's waiting room, twiddling his thumbs. The walls are plastered with those stupid posters of cute kittens in ridiculous predicaments. One kitten is twisted up in a hammock, and a thought bubble over its head says, "How did I get myself into this one?" Another poster has a kitten hanging onto a tree branch, saying, "It's easier to get into trouble than out of it."

No shit, Sherlock.

Ty looks around him, drinks in the scenery. A pretty blonde is sitting behind the receptionist's window, typing up a storm, a cell phone clutched between one ear and her shoulder.

" - and I saw the cutest bag at Louis Vuitton the other day! I told myself I wasn't going to spend any more money, but I just _had_ to - "

Ty mentally checks out of the conversation. He could care less about the shopping habits of chatty receptionists. Next to him is a coffee table stacked with coloring books and crayons, and colorful blocks. He has half a mind to just plop himself on the carpet and start playing with them, if the shrink doesn't show up sometime soon.

"Mr. Conklin? Dr. Morgan is ready to see you."

Ty looks up. The receptionist is pointing to the open door. The team's shrink is standing in the doorway, a manila folder in his hand. _Crap, I already have a folder?_

"Right this way, Mr. Conklin," the good doctor says, as Ty follows down a twisting, carpet-lined hall.

"Call me Ty." Ty settles on one of the leather couches in the doctor's office. No stupid cat posters here. He's almost relieved.

"So, what brings you to my office today?" Dr. Morgan sits across from Ty, in a leather chair, and plucks a pen out of a cup of them on his desk.

"I need help," Ty says.

Dr. Morgan raises his eyebrows, prompting Ty to continue on with a nod.

"I've been having problems with a teammate," Ty says.

"What kind of problems?" Dr. Morgan scratches something on a yellow legal pad in his lap.

"He's - getting to me," Ty says, leaning forward, straining his eyes to see what the doctor's writing down. He makes out _Conklin - problems with teamma -_ before his eyes give out and his vision becomes blurry. Ty sits back and winces, rubs at his eyes.

"Getting to you? How?"

"You know," says Ty.

"I'd like you to explain," the doctor says.

Ty opens his eyes. "I don't know."

-

A few weeks later, Ty wins his first start in a Red Wings uni, 5-0 shut out against his old team, Edmonton. He's floating high on cloud nine, and he's almost forgotten he has a crush on Osgood. That is, until Osgood climbs up onto his stool in front of his locker and announces - loudly - that he's treating everybody to a round of drinks in honor of the momentous occasion, no ifs, ands, or buts.

"I don't drink." It's the first thing Ty can think to say, and it's patently false. And Osgood knows it.

Osgood looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Shit, of course you drink. Unless you're a Mormon or something?" Osgood grins, tugs at the towel Ty's got wrapped around his waist. "You got on those shiny underpants?"

"Jesus." Ty whacks Osgood's hand away. "I, uh, I guess I can come along. I'll stick to water and soda." Ty laughs weakly. He fiddles with the wet towel, limbs stubbornly refusing to unwind it from around his waist. Not with Osgood there, in the lockerroom.

Osgood's still watching him, expectantly, like he's waiting for Ty to disrobe or something. Probably is, knowing Osgood. "Well? Aren't you gonna get ready? Everybody else is waiting on you," Osgood says.

 _Shit._ "Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec, I need to phone Erika, let her know I won't be home 'til later." Ty pulls his cell phone out of his locker and dials up his wife, waving Osgood and the others off.

Two minutes and an angry tirade later, Ty is dressed and ready to go.

He's going to regret this, he just knows it. And he won't even have the excuse of being drunk.

Shit, this was a bad idea.

-

Osgood is knee-knockingly drunk when Ty starts wondering what his mouth tastes like. Ty tries to shake the thought out of his head, but it doesn't go away, buzzing around his head like an obnoxious fly he can't get rid of.

Osgood is sitting sandwiched between Draper and Maltby. He's so drunk Ty thinks if Maltby and Draper got up and left, Osgood would slither off his barstool and to the floor.

"Hey, Ty," Osgood says, suddenly, and Ty is shocked right out of his thoughts.

Ty's brain freezes. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you, duh." Osgood is leaning past Maltby, who's trying to look over him to the footballl scores. He holds out a twenty dollar bill. "Get yourself a drink, on me."

"What? I said I didn't drink - " Ty tries, but Osgood cuts him off with a really loud, annoying laugh.

"And I know you were lying," Osgood says, waving the twenty dollar bill. " 's on me. Since you're the man of the hour an' all."

"You're drunk," Ty says.

"Again, duh." Osgood wriggles away from Draper and Maltby and stumbles his way down to Ty. He grabs Ty by the wrist and forces his hand open. "Here, take it."

"I don't want your money." Ty looks down at him, the top of his head, and pushes the money back to Osgood. "If I wanted to drink I would've gotten myself something by now."

"Are you our designated driver?" Osgood hiccups.

Ty leaves the bill on the counter top. "We came in taxis, remember?"

"Oh, right." Osgood scrambles up on the empty stool next to Ty and generally invades his space. "So."

"So?"

"Nothin'. Just tryin' to make conversation," Osgood says.

"Oh. Well." Ty glances at the TV on the wall behind the bar. Cleveland is beating Buffalo, 15-10. Not that he really cares. Football isn't really his thing. "The Browns are winning."

"Big deal. Cleveland sucks. Wish that place would fall into Lake Erie already." Osgood leans heavily on his elbows.

"You don't mean that," Ty says.

"Probably not." Osgood rests his chin on his arm, and Ty has to look away. He looks really cute like th - Ty gives himself a mental kick in the pants for even letting the thought creep into his mind in the first place.

"So, why do you hate me?" Osgood asks, out of nowhere.

Ty is startled away from the football game. Osgood has a tendency to do that. He kind of fucking hates it, but not enough to stop - _God, I'm a fucking pre-teen girl_ \- crushing on him. "What? I don't hate you," Ty says, hating how squeaky his voice sounds.

"I always catch you lookin' at me, an' then you look away like you're plottin' or somethin'," Osgood says.

"Dude, you're drunk."

"Yeah, but you also hate me," Osgood says, jabbing his index finger into Ty's chest.

"I don't _hate_ you," Ty says. God. This is worse than he could have possibly imagined. And he can't think of anything to change Osgood's mind that doesn't involve their mouths, possibly their tongues. Ty hates his brain.

"You want my job," Osgood accuses.

"Dude, sober up if you're going to talk to me." Ty concocts a cover. "Plus, you smell."

Osgood lifts up his shirt, exposing his chest, and sniffs. "Do not."

Ty gives him a shove, hand _accidentally_ coming into contact with his bare chest. Accidentally, totally. "Yes, you do. And pull your shirt down, the girls are staring." Ty jerks his thumb in the direction of a group of girls who've been eyeing them all evening, hiding and giggling and flirting behind tall glasses with fruity umbrellas.

Osgood shoves back. "Maybe I _want_ them to stare! Ya ever think about that?" Osgood grins at him, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and Ty feels as nauseated as Osgood _should_ , considering he had, like, five beers in under an hour.

"I'm sure your wife is proud," Ty cracks.

Osgood scowls. "Hey, my wife loves me."

"I'm sure she does." Ty picks up his neglected soda and takes a sip, glancing at the gaggle of giggly girls and their frutiy drinks. One of them catches his eye and waves to him, flipping her long hair over one bare shoulder and licking her lips. The butterflies in his stomach start up again, wreaking havoc.

"I think that one wants you," Osgood says, leaning heavily on his shoulder, pointing right back at her. The girl giggles some more and makes a beckoning motion to them. "C'mon, she's all over you, dude."

"I've got a wife," Ty says, knowing it's not much of an excuse.

"And? So do most of the guys here," Osgood says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go for it. I promise I won't tell."

Ty sighs. The girl is blonde, Ty's type, and shapely, filling out her top nicely. "Well. As long as Erika doesn't find out," Ty says, mostly to himself.

"Attaboy." Osgood loops his arms around Ty's neck and gives him a big hug. "Go get 'em, cowboy!"

"God, you're drunk," somebody, Maltby maybe, says.

Ty gets up and heads over to the group of girls, waving shyly. "Hey."

The girls move over and make a spot for him in their booth. The blonde pats the empty space next to her with an inviting smile.

"My name's Marci," she says. "You're Ty, right?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?" Ty plasters the grin onto his face.

"Women's intuition," Marci says. Her brunette friends giggle behind their hands.

She runs her fingernails up and down Ty's arm, slowly, and he thinks this is probably her idea of flirting. He hasn't flirted in years. He doesn't flirt when he's looking for a hook-up, pretty much points to his dick and that's that. Doesn't flirt with Erika because they know each other so well, and can just tell when the other wants to fuck.

Marci leans in real close and Ty offers her a twitchy half-smile. "Loosen up," she breathes into his ear, reaching up to knead at his shoulders. "You're so tense."

Ty works his shoulders, trying to follow her advice. "Sorry."

"You don't do this much?" She gestures to his ring with her elbow, hands still on his shoulders.

"I - on occasion," Ty admits, rolling his shoulders again. The girl is talented; the tension is already seeping out of his muscles. "I love my wife."

She laughs at that. "They all do."

Ty shrugs one-shoulderedly. "Sometimes people need to be reminded."

"So, me and my friends are staying at the Atheneum," she says, slipping her hands away from him, and Ty raises his eyebrows, impressed. "We aren't typical groupies, if that's what you were thinking. We've got class."

"Of course." Ty nods to Marci, smiles. "Let's go."

"Isn't your friend gonna miss you," one of the other girls asks, teasingly, and Ty glances back at the bar. Osgood is watching intently, a big stupid grin on his face.

"He'll live."

Ty gets up and follows the girls out. Marci links her hand in his elbow and smiles solicitously at him, and for some reason, that makes the butterflies start up again.

-

Marci has a room to herself, which is a relief. Ty settles on one of the beds and sits back to watch Marci as she starts undressing.

She's got a nice figure, plenty enough curves, nice, full tits. A rose tattoo on her hip. Nothing at all like Erika. Ty thinks if Marci resembled Erika even a little bit, he wouldn't be able to go through with this.

Marci climbs into his lap, straddling his hips, planting her hands on either side of his head.

"Let's get this show on the road." Marci grins down at him.

"Thought you'd never ask." Ty rests a hand at the small of her back and smiles up at her.

-

"So, how'd it go?"

Osgood leans against his locker, arms crossed over his eyes. He has on a pair of sunglasses.

Ty reaches over and lifts the sunglasses off Osgood's face, grins at Osgood's watery, bloodshot eyes. "How long were you guys out drinking, huh?"

" 'til two," Osgood says, snagging the sunglasses and putting them back on. "Just glad we don't have a game tonight."

Ty stoops over his duffel and shoves in an elbow pad before zipping the thing up. They're on their way to Edmonton to play the Oilers on the back end of a home-and-home. Osgood will play, and Ty will ride the pine and chart the faceoffs like the dutiful backup he is, his night of glory already forgotten. He gets another look at Osgood's bloodshot eyes and smirks.

"You're lucky we don't have a game," Ty says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Babcock would have your head."

"I've played hung over before," Osgood says, shifting away from Ty's locker.

"You're a real winner." Ty starts for the exit. A bus is in the players' lot, waiting to take them to the airport.

"Shut up, like you've never been hung over before," Osgood says.

"Not during a game."

"Well, you've got me there." Osgood steps on the backs of Ty's shoes and Ty stumbles over his duffel bag. Osgood stumbles over him and grabs onto him.

"Asshole!" Ty throws Osgood off his back and picks up his bag. "You did that on purpose."

"I tripped!" Osgood can't even say it with a straight face.

"You're such a child." Ty slips the strap of his bag back over his shoulder. "I changed my mind. On second thought, I _do_ hate you." Can't be farther from the truth, but what Osgood doesn't know can't hurt _Ty_.

"You're just easy to get to," Osgood says, slapping him on the chest before darting off for the waiting bus.

Ty sighs and follows after. Of course he'd have to develop a crush on the most immature guy in the lockerroom. Of fucking course.

-

Osgood plays well enough and they win, but Ty is not about to buy the team drinks to celebrate, and tells Osgood so.

"But I won," Osgood says.

"You didn't get a shut out, so no can do." Ty finishes buttoning up his shirt and grabs his wallet, keys and cell phone. Oh, and his wedding ring. Can't forget that. He slips it on and turns back to Osgood.

"You owe me." Osgood scowls and points at him, accusingly.

"You'll get over it," Ty says, trying to push past him.

Osgood won't let him get away that easily. "I mean it, you totally owe me drinks," Osgood says.

"Will you take an IOU?"

"I suppose. But I won't let you forget my generosity," Osgood says, tapping him on the chest.

"I'm sure you won't." Ty maneuvers Osgood's hand away from his chest. "Can I leave now?"

"Okay, you are dismissed." Osgood steps aside and waves for Ty to leave.

Which he does. He's got to get away before he says or does something stupid.

-

It gets worse.

Osgood goes down with a groin injury and suddenly Ty can't get rid of him. He's always by him in the lockerroom, chattering about everything under the sun. Or he calls Ty up and asks him about the randomest shit - _have you ever been arrested?_ (to which Ty says no) or _have you ever killed somebody?_ (which Ty thinks would be covered by _have you ever been arrested?_ but Osgood is apparently taking murders that have yet to be discovered into consideration) or _how old were you when you lost your virignity?_ (which Ty says is none of his business) - ever.

It's like the ultimate karmic payback for even developing this stupid crush in the first place. Ty wishes he'd kept seeing the shrink. Surely the shrink could help him get over it with some sort of hypnosis shit? Maybe he should give the guy a call just to find out.

He's so ready to be done with this crush thing. And at the same time, he doesn't want to give it up. He likes being around Osgood, spending time with him, getting to know him. He's not sure how much longer he can take it though.

He wonders if he should call up Marc-André, but decides against it. Marc-André probably wouldn't know what to say. Who _would_? "It's okay that you have a crush on your teammate, Ty"? "Sure, you might both be married, but it can't hurt"? "Go for it! What could possibly go wrong"? Ha, right.

They're in Chicago, preparing for the Winter Classic, which Ty will be starting. Osgood tells everyone who's within hearing distance that he's ready, but Babcock shoots him down immediately. They want to save Osgood for Minnesota. Ty thinks it's because Minnesota will be an easier opponent for Osgood to face than Chicago, but he doesn't say so.

The Red Wings, according to Maltby, who's been here almost as long as anybody, stopped doing roommates back in '02, when they started going after big name free agents. Guys like Brett Hull, Luc Robitaille, Dominik Hasek didn't want to share their rooms, so management changed the 'rules' to accomodate them and keep them happy.

Ty is quick to point this out to Osgood when he suggests they room together.

"Oh, I know that," Osgood says. "I just think it'd be cool to room together."

Ty frowns. "What are we, high school girls?"

"I dunno about you," Osgood says, grinning, "but I'm one hundred per cent male."

"So'm I. And no, I won't room with you," he says. _More like 'I shouldn't or else I'll do girly shit like stare at you from my bed all night and giggle, and then act like I wasn't staring at you when you catch me staring, or something,' but who's keeping track?_

"Bringing the wife and kids along?" Osgood asks.

"No?"

"Then what's your excuse?"

"I don't want to room with you. Isn't that excuse enough?" Ty glares at him.

"I think I should be offended," Osgood says.

"Maybe you should take a hint and go bug someone else," Ty snaps. He doesn't mean to sound so ornery. He just can't help it.

Osgood's shoulders deflate. "I guess I could do that," he says, walking off, head down.

Ty immediately feels like a shitheel. He rubs his hands over his face and groans. Not the start to the roadtrip he'd been expecting. Of all the things he wanted to accomplish while they were on the road, making Osgood cry was not among them, not anymore.

He kind of wishes he'd stayed in Pittsburgh. He was still straight in Pittsburgh.

-

Ty notches the win in the Winter Classic, his third, some kind of NHL record. Of course, the guys decide that calls for beers at the bar in the hotel lobby. Ty doesn't get a choice; McCarty and Chelios wrap their arms around him and drag him along.

Ty cranes his neck, spots Osgood trailing after, looking for all the world like someone kicked his puppy. Ty turns his head, guilt rising in his throat. If anyone kicked Osgood's proverbial puppy, it was him.

He indulges his teammates and drinks when they drink, cheers when they cheer, but he's not really feeling it tonight.

Once the guys have decided they had their fill of celebratory beers, Ty manages to escape and get back to his room. He has a million messages on his phone, mostly from family and friends, and he listens to half of them before getting bored and chucking his cell phone onto the spare bed. He collapses onto his own bed and picks up the remote, starts flipping through channels.

Someone knocks tentatively on his door.

"Who is it?" Ty asks, turning down the volume a little.

"It's me. Let me in."

"Oh, that clears things right up," Ty says, not budging from his bed.

"It's Chris," the voice says.

"Osgood, Chelios or Draper?" Ty asks, just to be difficult, even though he knows it's Osgood now.

"Osgood, you asshole. Let me in."

Ty gets up and heads to the door. "What's the password?"

"I'm going to puke. Let me in!"

Ty laughs and opens the door, and Osgood pushes past him for the bathroom. "Couldn't even make it two doors down the hall to your own room?" Ty calls after him, chuckling. "Lightweight."

Osgood sinks to his knees in front of the toilet and grabs onto the seat, retching. "Shut. Up."

Ty leans against the doorframe and tsks lightly. "For shame. You know you're going in Minnesota."

"I know that." Osgood retches again, white-knuckling the toilet bowl. "Shit. Maybe I can tell 'em I got the twenty-four hour bug or something."

"Like Babcock would even buy that," Ty says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"He might," Osgood pants.

"You done?" Ty leans over and grabs a washcloth from the towel rack on the adjacent wall and wets it under the faucet.

Osgood looks up at him, blinking miserably. "I think so," he manages, before diving back to the toilet.

Ty laughs.

"Hate you," Osgood grumbles.

Ty crouches next to him and slaps the wet washcloth over his face. "No, you love me," Ty says.

Osgood mutters something that's obscured by the wet washcloth.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Ty needles.

Osgood pulls the washcloth down. "I'm not the one who loves me," Osgood says, pausing and scrunching his brow. "That sounded better in my head."

"Everything sounds better in your head when you're falling-down-drunk," Ty points out, settling next to Osgood with his knees drawn up to his chest. Quarters are tight and he's not a tiny man.

"No, I mean, you're the one who loves somebody, not me," Osgood says.

Ty cocks his head, not liking where this is going. "What?"

Osgood pokes him in the chest with the washcloth. "You. Love me."

"You're drunk," Ty says, going cold all over.

"Maybe. Okay, yeah. But that doesn't change anything." Osgood keeps poking him in the chest with the washcloth. "You're always looking at me."

"It's hard to miss you," Ty says, meaning it as an insult, but Osgood takes it as a compliment.

"I do take up a room," he says.

Ty grabs the washcloth away. "That's not a good thing."

"You're just frontin'." Osgood grins lopsidedly at him.

"Whatever, shut up." Ty grabs onto the edge of the sink and hoists himself to his feet.

Osgood tugs on his pantleg. "Help me up."

"You're not a child, help yourself up." Ty tries to shake him off.

"Please?" Osgood keeps hold of Ty's leg.

Ty sighs and extends a hand. Osgood grabs on and pulls Ty back down.

"You suck." Ty knocks Osgood's hand away.

"Only if you ask nice." Osgood puts his head on Ty's shoulder. "I'm drunk."

Ty fights the urge to poke Osgood in the eye. "Well, thank you, Captain Obvious." He pauses. "How drunk are you?"

"Pretty drunk."

"You gonna remember any of this?" Ty asks.

"Probably not, no."

Ty lets out a deep, relieved breath. "Okay. Good." He reaches out and touches hesitant fingers to Osgood's hair. It's wet, either from sweat or the washcloth, and Ty rubs lightly before jerking his hand back.

"Why'd you stop, that was nice," Osgood says into his shoulder.

"My legs are falling asleep." Ty finally knocks Osgood off his shoulder. "Should get you back to your room."

Osgood sits back and rubs a fist into his eyes. "C'n I just crash here?"

"Here?"

"Yeah. Don't feel like walking."

"You're gonna have to walk to get out of the bathroom," Ty says.

"Okay, don't feel like walking down the hall," Osgood grumbles.

"Fine, you can crash here. Just don't do anything annoying, like snore or talk in your sleep," Ty says, getting to his feet and helping Osgood up.

Osgood staggers, grabbing onto Ty's shoulders for support. "Mmkay. No annoying shit, got it."

Ty moves to put a hand on Osgood's waist before his brain aborts the mission and he lets his arm wilt to his side. "All right. Good." He tugs Osgood out of the bathroom and deposits him in the extra bed. "G'night, Chris."

"G'night, Ty." Osgood curls into a ball with one of the comforters.

Ty drops into his own bed and shoves his head under a pillow.

If Hell exists, it's probably something like this.

-

Ty wakes up and checks the alarm. It's two in the morning. Osgood is hanging out of the bed, knuckles of one hand dragging on the carpet. He is, of course, snoring to beat the band, and Ty considers shoving his pillow down his throat.

Then his mind goes an entirely different route and Ty kind of hates his brain.

He shoves his head back under his pillow and tries to will himself back to sleep.

It doesn't work.

Ty finally gives up and heads to the bathroom to take a cold shower. Hopefully he can also get his mind off shoving other things down Osgood's throat too.

Ty steps into the shower fully clothed and turns the nozzle on full blast. The water beats down on his skin like needles, and it's fucking _freezing_ but it does the job. Ty can't think of anything except how cold the water is.

The bathroom light snaps on and Ty freezes, hands on the tiles. _Shit, he has to take a piss_ now _? Of all times?_ Ty pulls back the curtain. "Chris, I'm in the shower. Could you save it?"

"Dude, why are you taking a shower at two in the morning?" Osgood sticks his hand under the spray of water and recoils, making a face. "And why's it freezing cold?"

Ty can't come up with anything for that. His teeth are chattering so hard, he thinks they'll shatter. That would be a mess, and a bitch to explain to the coaches. He can't think of anything to say to that so he merely shrugs. He hopes Osgood's still drunk, and that he'll forget this come morning.

"Oh," Osgood says, nodding, acting like he's figured it all out. "You were - " He makes a jerking motion with his hand.

Ty knocks his head against the tile.

"I'll leave you two alone then," Osgood says.

"Fine, you do that." Ty turns the shower off and grabs a fresh towel from the rack.

Osgood shuts the door quietly behind him.

-

Ty has no idea what the fuck he's doing, coming to Osgood's place like this. Osgood has a wife and kids, and Ty's about 99.9% certain Osgood's wife wouldn't appreciate him showing up like this to profess his feelings for her husband. Ty half hopes he chickens out. He could always turn around.

Except he's not turning around.

And then he pulls into Osgood's driveway and kills the engine and bangs his hands on the steering wheel. If Osgood looks out his window, he'd surely notice the big pickup truck idling in his driveway. It's too late to turn back now.

Ty gets out and crunches his boots in the ankle-deep snow, savoring the feel, before tromping up the little stone walkway that's been blown free of snow.

A Christmas wreath is still hanging on the door. Ty can make out bits of tinsel and little plastic toys. His kids probably made that wreath. Ty feels like a shitheel for intruding on their family like this. He hopes to God Jenna and the kids aren't home. If they're home, he'll jump into his truck and get the Hell out of Dodge.

Ty knocks.

He can hear frantic, frenzied barking, and an angry shout, before the wreath sways and the door opens.

Osgood cocks his head. "Ty? What're you doin' here?" He opens the door wider, motioning with his arm. "C'mon in. You want something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm not staying long," Ty says, stepping in and knocking the snow off his boots, onto a straw mat. "Are the wife and kids around?"

Osgood laughs, probably assuming Ty is asking after them like the dutiful teammate he is. "Nah, they're out shopping, doing girly stuff." He clips Ty on the shoulder. "C'mon. I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee."

Ty follows him into the kitchen, marveling at the coziness of the house, and how much he doesn't belong.

Osgood opens up a cupboard and gets out two mugs, setting them on the counter. "What's up?"

Ty leans back against the counter and watches as he picks up the coffee pot. "I just came by to chat," Ty says. Not really a lie, is it?

"So, chat." Osgood sticks a mug in Ty's hand.

Ty looks down at it, studies the steam rising off in smoky tendrils. " 've got a problem," he mutters.

"Cowbell."

Ty squints at Osgood, confused. "What?"

"The only prescription is more cowbell. Duh."

"God, you're strange." Ty sips at his coffee. The longer he can delay the inevitable, the better.

"It's a skit. But that wasn't why you came to talk," Osgood says.

Ty glances at him, chewing down hard on his bottom lip. "I - do you remember what we talked about in Chicago?" he asks.

Osgood shrugs. "A little bit, here and there." He brightens. "Caught you whacking off."

"You did _not_!" Ty yelps. That sounded _way_ too defensive.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Osgood is still grinning at him. "Anyway, this is what we talked about in the bathroom, right?"

Ty chokes on a mouthful of coffee. "Thought you were drunk," he says.

"Yeah, but that's not really something you forget." Osgood puts his mug down. "Plus, it's not like I'm blind."

"What?" Ty is so confused right now.

"You've got a thing for me," Osgood says.

"Thing?"

"You know, a crush."

"I do not!"

Osgood laughs and rests a hand on Ty's shoulder. "Let's just say you're not that subtle."

 _Fuck._ "Fuck."

"It's okay, though. I like you too." Osgood keeps his hand on Ty's shoulder.

"It's not okay, I - wait, what? You like me?" Ty reels from the mental whiplash, putting out a hand to steady himself. "Like - _that_?"

"You're kinda cute. And I have a thing for idiot manchildren," Osgood says.

"Takes one to know one, apparently," Ty quips under his breath.

"Looks like."

Osgood is still grinning, and Ty wishes he could wipe it right off his stupid face.

Ty curls his hand in the front of Osgood's shirt and hoists Osgood up, ducking his head to make up the two inches in height difference, before pressing their mouths together.

He can feel Osgood grin against his mouth.

Asshole.

He pushes Osgood back against the counter, bracing his hands on either side of him, and kisses him harder, probing his mouth with his tongue. He tastes like cherry, and that's so not surprising. He was expecting Osgood to taste like fruit.

Osgood wraps a hand around the back of Ty's neck, trying to push up against him, but Ty has the leverage and he doesn't get anywhere. Ty grins against the corner of Osgood's mouth.

"What?" Osgood hooks a finger in Ty's belt loop, tugs.

Ty leans back to get a good look at him. Osgood isn't his type. He doesn't have tits, and he has stubble, and he's kind of obnoxious, and he's _married_ and has _kids_ , and all Ty wants to do is this.

Go fig.

"Nothin'," Ty says, ducking his head to kiss him again, properly this time. "Just makin' sure you're for real."

Osgood laughs, breaking into a grin, and Ty winds up kissing the smile but he doesn't really mind. "That was kinda bad."

"Yeah, it was. Are you gonna punish me for it?"

"Depends on what you've got in mind."

"You're smart. Figure it out."

-

Ty falls into bed and Osgood follows him, a mass of tangled limbs, exploring each other's bodies with their mouths, hands, feet too. Ty gets a knee in the stomach for his trouble that sucks away his breath, and he's pretty sure he elbowed Osgood in the head, but he's not complaining.

Osgood grabs onto Ty's shirt and tugs it over his head, and Ty starts on Osgood's belt, before pausing.

"How're we gonna do this?" Ty asks, working on the belt buckle.

"How you usually do these things," Osgood suggests.

"I mean, I've never done this before, with another guy."

Osgood perks. "You mean, I'm your first?"

"Yeah," Ty says, sliding Osgood's jeans down his hips slowly.

"You're kinda my first too, then," Osgood says.

"Kinda?"

Osgood kicks Ty's shirt off the bed. "Let's not get technical here."

Ty pushes Osgood back into the pillows and clambers on top of him. "No arguments here." He rolls his hips, and Osgood bites on his lips, stifling a moan. "You like that, huh?"

"Says who?" Osgood locks his legs with Ty's and before he knows it, Ty's flipped onto his back and Osgood's the one on top.

"And who says you're gonna be the one on top?" Ty asks.

Osgood looks puzzled. "Uh, I do?"

"I don't bottom," Ty says.

"How'd you know if you've never done it before?"

"I just do." Ty tries to roll them over but Osgood resists. "Plus, I've seen your dick in the lockerroom. Nothing to write home about."

"Asshole, I'm packing a good eight inches."

"And only four of that's actually you."

"Fucker, shows how much you know. Hold on, I'll show you." Osgood tries to wriggle out of his boxers while still pinning Ty down with one hand. It doesn't work. Ty catches him off guard and manages to toss Osgood onto his back. "Asshole. I've got a ruler in my night stand, just let me - "

"I knew it," Ty says. "I am so not surprised."

Osgood sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "We're really not getting anywhere, are we?"

"Doesn't look like." Ty shrugs, rolling onto his back. "If you want, I'll give you a blow job."

Osgood makes a thoughtful-sounding chuff. "I could live with that."

-

Ty is wrapping tape around the knob of his goalie stick, while teammates chatter and buzz around him. He's not really paying attention. It didn't take him long to learn how to tune them out.

Osgood waltzes over and plops a little wooden stool down by Ty's. "Whatcha doin'?"

"What's it look like to you, genius?" Ty looks from Osgood to his stick, pointedly.

"Yeah, I got that. I'm trying to make conversation here," Osgood says.

"Is this that awkward morning after we didn't get to have 'cause I snuck out?" Ty asks.

"Pretty much, yeah. And, also, I like to make your life a living hell." Osgood beams.

"I figured as much." Ty rips the tape off the roll and flips it into Osgood's chest. It lands on the carpet with a thump. "Good reflexes there. Getting a little slow, are we?"

"You weren't saying that last night," Osgood sits back and crosses his arms behind his head.

The look on his face kind of makes Ty want to hit him.

"Asshole. Speak up, would ya?" Ty shoves the stick back into his locker and grabs one of his massive red leg pads. "I don't think Kronwall heard you." Ty nods to Kronwall's locker in the far corner of the lockerroom.

"What was that?" Kronwall calls out.

Osgood just grins, slow and easy, and shrugs, and Ty suddenly isn't that mad at him anymore. Damn him.

"It's part of my charm," Osgood says.

"And you're just full of it," Ty agrees cheerfully. He straps himself in and sets to work on the other leg pad.

"Didn't hear you complaining last night," Osgood says.

"Didn't hear _your mom_ complaining this morning when I fucked her," Ty retorts.

"Ouch." Osgood is smiling though, eyes crinkling. He puts his hands up in an act of surrender. "You win this round."

Ty grins. "That's what I thought." He stands and pulls his jersey down over his chest padding, ties it down in the back. "See you after practice?" He gives Osgood a pointed look, complete with arched eyebrows. "Maybe we can keep working on that - thing we were talking about the other day." Ty eyes Draper suspiciously, as Draper walks by his locker for the third time that morning already. Nothing good can come of the smile on Draper's face.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone," Draper says, slapping Osgood on the shoulder, and heads off for the showers.

Osgood shrugs. "I didn't tell him anything, swear. But yeah. We can." Osgood tips his Red Wings ballcap to Ty and grins, lips pulled against his teeth. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and Ty has to look away at that moment, or else he'll do something stupid right then and there in the lockerroom.

Instead of jumping Osgood and ripping off his jersey, Ty salutes him and grabs his stick, marching out the doors and down the little, cramped corridor to the ice surface. A bucket of pucks is waiting by the gate for him, and Ty kicks at it, sending the black rubber disks skittering across the ice.

He smiles, steps onto the ice, savors the solidness of it under his skates. Ty feels like he's on steady ground for the first time in a while.

Yeah, today is going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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